Sins of the Father
by Donny's Boy
Summary: A boy who he doesn't understand ... a boy who he understands better than anyone realizes ... with two sons missing, Splinter takes a moment to meditate on why his boys are who they are. Set in the 2007 movie universe.
1. Regrets

"Sins of the Father"

By Donny's Boy

---

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.

Warnings: Some emotionally intense stuff. No sex, mature language, or graphic violence.

---

**Chapter 1: "Regrets"**

"_I have told you before, my son, that you must be strong when your brothers are weak." _

"You've told me that so many times that I've lost count. But what does that even mean_?"_

_A sigh. "Donatello."_

"_It's not my fault that Raph is … well, that he's Raph." A frustrated grunt. "And it's not my fault that he won't listen to anything I say. So I don't understand why I am being punished for not being the great leader Leonardo."_

"_My son, you are not being punished—"_

"_Yes, I am!"_

---

The boy was quite young. Far too young to truly know any better. But that did nothing to stay the tide of anger that rose within Splinter's breast.

"Donatello! What are you doing?"

The little turtle paused, his chubby hands buried amongst the wires of the toaster he'd successfully dismantled, and raised quizzical eyes to his father. "I's takin' it apart," he explained, very matter-of-factly.

The toaster was the small family's only source of heat for food—there was no stove, no microwave, no oven. When Splinter had found the device during one of his regular scavenging expeditions, he'd been delighted to find it still in working condition. The boys had been similarly delighted upon discovering the joys of warm toast and hot waffles.

And now the toaster—the precious toaster Splinter had miraculously managed to find—was sitting on the cold floor in a thousand tiny pieces. He knew there was scant hope of putting it back together again.

Splinter couldn't help it. The toaster … and the boy … looking so calm and completely unconcerned … and the _toaster_ … With a sharp kick, Splinter sent the toaster flying across the room where it slammed to a halt against the hard brick wall. Startled, Donatello jumped up and stared at where the toaster now lay.

Kicking the toaster, far from quenching his anger, merely sent another surge of adrenaline coursing through Splinter's body. Glaring down at his tiny son, the rat grabbed Don by the shoulders and lifted him clean off the floor. He gave the boy a brief but rough shake, shouting, "Over and over I have told you not to take things apart! But still you do not listen to me!"

Eyes wide and confused, Donatello let out a soft whimper.

And, just like that, the tide ebbed. Immediately the remaining anger drained from Splinter, leaving him feeling weak and scared and sick to his stomach. As gently as possible he set the boy back on the floor. Then he reached out with a trembling hand to stroke his son's cheek. Don flinched slightly at his touch.

"S-sorry," the boy whispered.

"No, it is I who should be sorry," Splinter replied, his voice thick. He pulled the young turtle into his arms and hugged him fiercely. "I am so very sorry, Donatello."

---

_A low growl of warning. "Donatello, you _will_ lower your voice and speak to me in a respectful manner."  
__  
"Y-yes, Sensei." An uncomfortable pause, full of embarrassment. "I didn't mean to, uh … well, of course I wouldn't … I'm sorry, Master Splinter." _

"As well you should be. For the next few hours, you will retire to your room to meditate on how you may better serve—and, when necessary, lead—this family." 

_The slightest hint of lingering resentment: "Yes … Sensei."_

---

With a subconscious jerk, Splinter opened his eyes. He glanced over at a nearby clock and saw that he had been meditating for a mere fifteen minutes. Lately, whenever he sat down to meditate, he could never do so for very long. Nor could he do so without remembering.

It was always the same memory: Donatello and the toaster. Splinter rose and stretched his back. If only Splinter could say it was the one time he'd lost his temper … but that would be untrue. There were many such times, with all four of his sons.

And there were so many bad memories. Screaming at an infant Michelangelo, who would not sleep through the night. Slapping the hands of a toddler Leonardo, who insisted on sucking on his dirty, germy thumbs. Glaring a tiny Raphael into tearful submission, all for the heinous crime of having stolen his brother's cookie.

And, of course, scaring a young Donatello so badly that he shied away from Splinter's very touch for an entire day afterwards. Scaring Donatello over a toaster, of all things.

The boys had been so young. They hadn't known better, and Splinter had of course been aware of that. But Splinter had been young then too. Nothing in his previous life had prepared him for fatherhood. Not just fatherhood, either, but playing father to four mutated turtles that had to be constantly kept underground, unseen, and somehow entertained.

That was no excuse, however. Splinter had always known that, too. But it was after the toaster incident that he had told himself, "Never again." It was after the toaster incident that Splinter began exploring meditation in earnest, and slowly but surely it began to help. As the boys grew older and were able to play peacefully amongst themselves for extended periods of time, that helped as well. But his memories helped most of all. Every time he felt frustrated, every time the temptation to yell or strike out began to grow too strong, he would force himself to remember—to remember Donatello's terrified face—and the anger would eventually shrink to something more manageable.

And slowly but surely the boys forgot those bad memories, as they were displaced by memories of laughter and lessons, of games and ninjitsu, and of a father with seemingly endless wells of patience. Only Splinter remembered those long, hard, dark early years. How very well he remembered.

---

_A knock. A short pause—an eternity. _

"My son, I wish to have a few words with you. Please open your door." 

_Only silence. Drawn-out. Mocking._

"_You are no longer a child, Donatello. End this foolishness _now_. I will not speak with a barrier between us." A flare of irritation. A hand upon the doorknob. "Dona—"_

_Surprise. Slight hesitation._

"_Donatello?"_

_Alarm. Beyond the doorway, an empty room._

"_Donatello!"_

_Horror. Panic. Fear. Pounding footsteps from behind. Murmurs filled with concern and confusion. Questions, accusations, search grids._

_Guilt._

---

"Master Splinter?"

The elderly rat glanced towards the doorway, where Raphael stood awkwardly, bathed in shadows. How long had the boy been there? How much had he witnessed of tonight's meditation? It took Splinter a moment to find his voice. "Yes, my son?"

"We still haven't found nothing on where Donny might be hidin' out." Raph folded his arms across his plastron. "But me and Mikey are goin' back out to look again first thing tomorrow night."

"Very well." As Raphael turned to go, Splinter lifted a withered paw. "Wait a moment. Please."

Raphael stepped back into the room, impatient but obedient. The thick corded muscles in his neck flexed, and his eyes glittered like gold in the candlelight.

Raphael. His beautiful son. His angry son. Splinter knew that Raphael saw himself as the black sheep of the family. Knew he saw Leonardo as Splinter's favorite. Knew Raphael often felt terribly misunderstood.

But Splinter understood all too well. That's why he had to keep trying. Why he could never and would never abandon Raphael to his rage. Because although none of the four had ever seemed to realize it, Leonardo was not the son who was most like his father.

Splinter approached Raph and placed his hands on the teen's broad shoulders. It was hard to reach. The boy had grown so tall over the years. Looking deeply into his son's eyes, he said, "I want you to know that I love you. And that I am proud of you."

For a moment Raphael seemed taken aback. Then he cracked a small grin. "Yeah, uh, well … love ya too, Sensei."

Satisfied, Splinter nodded. He released the boy, and Raph quickly disappeared before any more heartfelt sentiments could be uttered. Splinter turned from the doorway to gaze at the sundry meditation candles, still burning brightly, their flickers of flame spread out all over his room. With a small sigh, he addressed a son to whom he longed to tell the same words he had just spoken to his brother, muttering softly, "I am so very sorry, Donatello."

---

Author's Notes: I tend to think of Splinter as very wise and incredibly patient, but I was struck at how severe, uncompromising, and dogmatic he could be in the 2007 movie. I thought it'd be interesting to explore those aspects of the character. Also, I'd never really written Splinter before. (Still managed to fit in the Donny angst, of course.)


	2. Cowards

**Chapter 2: "Cowards"**

_"Where are you going, Raph?" _

A dismissive snort. "Out." 

_"Yes, I gathered as much." Slow words. Careful words. "Care to get any more specific than that?" _

"Not really." 

_"Well, will you at least do me the courtesy of letting me know when you'll be back? And could I possibly have a polysyllabic answer this time?" _

A flash of eyes, a flash of teeth. "Later." 

---

The boy sat on the edge of the mats, squirming around impatiently, while trying--and failing--to hide his eagerness. But he couldn't help it. Today was _the_ day. The day they finally got to use the bokken in sparring.

For years the wooden practice swords had sat in their privileged place in the dojo, high above the heads of four certain young turtles, and Master Splinter had given many a lecture about how they weren't toys. The lectures, of course, were to little lasting effect. And now, today, their sixth birthday, the day that they were to become men and not boys ... today Master Splinter reached up and carefully took down the bokken, just as he had every day for the last several weeks. So far, so good. But today? Today the swords weren't just for katas.

Grinning broadly, the boy stopped squirming and went reverently still. His eyes locked onto the weapons. Seconds ticked by. A seeming eternity. Meanwhile, Splinter's gaze slowly swept over the boys, and he felt his hopes drop when his father paused to look at Leonardo. Well, of course. Of course Leo would get to go first. He fought back a sigh.

At last, in a soft but authoritative voice, Sensei spoke: "Raphael. Donatello. Please rise and take your place on the mats."

The boy froze. His young brow creased in confusion for a moment at not hearing Leo's name. Then realization hit. _His_ name! Sensei had said _his_ name! He jumped up so quickly that he stumbled over his own feet, and this gave his brother more than enough time to beat him to the mats.

Once they were properly situated, they bowed. The boy took a bokken carefully, solemnly, from his master. Then he glanced over to his brother and, for the first time that day, his grin faltered. Suddenly he realized there was a problem.

His brother. And not any brother, but his smallest brother. The brother who stood a full three inches shorter than him. The brother who always got so sick during the bitter winter months. The brother who was always the first to fall in practice and the last to learn a new kata ...

"Begin!"

... the brother who, at the present moment, was launching himself across the dojo like a tiny green missile.

---

_"Sensei's worried about you, you know. And he's already stressed enough with worrying over where Leo might--"_

_"Gimme a break, Donny." The first hint of real anger. "This ain't got nothing to do with Leo. Or Master Splinter."_

_A soft growl. A warning, unheeded. "Oh, really? Do tell." _

"Yeah, really. This is about you. About how you can't stand the way I remind you that you're a crappy leader."

"That's not ... that isn't ... " A quiet sigh of surrender. 

---

Jumping back, Donatello lifted his bokken and just barely managed to block Raph's first strike. He stayed on the defensive for the next few minutes, parrying, deflecting, side-stepping. But the more Don blocked, the more frustrated Raph seemed to become. Raph turned savagely aggressive, attacking with a series of fast, furious lunges.

And in mere moments, Raphael was sitting on top of Don's chest, pinning him with the bokken and hissing through gritted teeth, "Stop pullin' punches and fight me for real!"

"I _am _fighting you," Don protested in a voice that was, he realized with mild horror and embarrassment, bordering on a whine.

"Well, fight harder, then." Drawing back a bit, Raph swung the bokken with all his might. "C'mon, Donny, don't be such a coward!"

As his brother's bokken came down hard on his skull, Don felt his vision explode into a million indistinct colors and shadows. He heard a sharp gasp, but he was pretty sure it didn't come from him. Leo? Maybe Leo. It sounded like Leo. As his vision flickered back into hazy focus, Don saw Raphael's face directly in front of him, a slight smirk upon his brother's lips.

Then he heard a growl, and the growl definitely _was _from him.

Something snapped. Rage and instinct took over. Ignoring the lingering pain, Don gave the smaller turtle a hard shove, easily knocking his brother off top of him. Then Donatello held his bokken like a staff and, quickly reaching around, caught Raphael by the throat. He pulled back. Raph made a strange, soft choking sound and thrashed in protest as Don gripped the bokken with white-knuckled determination. Only when Raph went quiet and limp did Don let go.

"Raphael!"

Strong hands grabbed Don by the wrists, and all of a sudden he found himself halfway across the room. Glancing up, he saw his sensei, his father, kneeling over and gently touching Raphael. But as seconds ticked by, and his brother remained motionless on the cold concrete floor of the dojo, Donatello felt his stomach drop.

"I didn't mean to," he mumbled, to no one. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

On the opposite side of the dojo, Michelangelo burst into loud, braying sobs.

---

_"See? Right there. You just givin' up is a huge part of the problem. I mean, for all his faults, at least Leo would put up a little more resistance, ya know?" _

A pointed glare. "I'm not Leonardo."

"You're right." A slow, lazy, calculating smile. "You're nothin' but a lousy coward." 

_A sharp intake of breath. Sharp anger, running hot and dangerous. A moment suspended in time. A choice; a decision. Finally, a slow exhalation._

_"Have a nice night, Raph. Try not to get into too much trouble." Nice, calm voice. A bit cold. A bit. "See you in the morning. Or whenever you manage to drag your shell back home."_

---

"Hey, Barfaroni. Raph called. Again. Third time today." There was a brief, awkward pause before he continued, "Wanted to know if I'd heard from ya. I told him no. _Again_. For the third time today."

Leaning against the window frame in Casey's apartment, Don gave a small nod. "Thanks, Atomic Mouth."

"Look. You gotta go home sooner or later, right? Why not make it 'sooner'?"

Donatello chuckled mirthlessly. "Because I'm a coward."

"You're an idiot, is what you are." Casey sighed. It was the sigh of a man who was exasperated but desperately trying to hide it. "C'mon, Donny. You know Raph shoots off his big, fat mouth without thinkin' things through. It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, believe me, he meant this." Don refused to tear his gaze from the window. He knew Casey was right, sort of, but he stubbornly kept his eyes trained on the traffic and pedestrians passing by several stories below. "Besides, I fought with Sensei too. I was ... " He swallowed. "Casey, I yelled at him. At Master Splinter. At my _father_."

Casey laughed, not unkindly. "Yeah, and it's not like any other son has yelled at his dad in the whole history o' creation. No, sirree." When Don didn't respond, Casey's voice gentled. "Splinter doesn't care, Don. He just wants his baby boy back home, safe and sound."

"I know that. I do. But how on earth do I go back and face all of them when ... when ... well, when I've gone and pulled a Leo?"

"Simple, man. You do it by knowin' that, if ya _don't_ do it, you'll hurt people you love."

Finally Donatello turned around. He looked over and saw Casey resting his forehead against the window pane, his blue eyes soft and unfocused, his mouth set in a firm, hard line. Don stared at his friend and felt a pang of sympathy. Quickly he reviewed his available options--an inquiry as to April's whereabouts and well-being, a shoulder-chuck, or perhaps even a fraternal hug--but, just as quickly, he rejected each in turn. This was Casey Jones, and Casey Jones neither required nor allowed pity.

Instead, Don found himself promising, "I'll head back to the lair as soon as the sun sets."

"Good," said Casey with a nod, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

---  
Author's Note: It's interesting that a few people mentioned wanting to know where Don went, because originally the last chapter was part of a longer story. But that story was--to be perfectly honest--not very good, so I ransacked it for decent material and created a one-shot from that. Of course, once I'd made it into a one-shot, I got inspiration for how to do something akin to my original idea ... except, y'know, a _decent_ version of that idea. Thanks for the inspiration, y'all!

Unrelated note: The dojo scene is something I've had in the back of my mind for a while. I love chibi stories, including several of the ones that depict Don as the runt of the litter, but I've always liked the characterization implications of _Raph_ being the late bloomer of the group.


	3. Shadows

**Chapter 3: "Shadows"**

_"So. I called Casey again."_

_A slight nod. An acknowledgment, and a thank you. "What did Mr. Jones say?" _

"Same old, same old." A frustrated sigh. "Says he hasn't heard from him." 

_"I see. Perhaps this is a sign. Perhaps Donatello must return to us in his own time, of his own accord."_

_"Sensei ... " A pause. Hesitation. Unnatural, therefore unsettling._

_"Yes, my son?" _

A subtle lift of the chin. "No offense, Master Splinter, but ... that's baloney." 

---

Hidden in shadows, standing perfectly still, he watched and he waited. Even though he went unnoticed and unseen by his young wards, he was nonetheless careful to keep his face a mask of calm neutrality. Inside, however, his heart raced so fast he felt downright nauseous.

"I dunno, Raph." A quiet voice, pitched low. It echoed eerily off the concrete walls of the abandoned subway station. "That pipe is pretty high up. I don't think you can reach it."

Immediately the other boy's voice--louder, indignant--bit back: "Just 'cause you're scared of heights, it doesn't mean the rest of us are!"

Splinter inhaled sharply. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly from his hiding spot in a nearby side-tunnel, he glanced towards his blue-masked son. He briefly debated whether to step forward but decided against it. Not yet, anyways. Not quite yet.

"I'm not afraid," muttered Leonardo in a petulant tone ... a tone that somewhat belied the maturity and wisdom the boy always claimed as the hallmark of being nine years old.

"You are too." Raph snorted dismissively. "Besides, Leo, this ain't about you. It's about me. And I bet I could get up to the top way faster than you could."

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture, Leo stared down at his brother. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Raph spat.

"Prove it."

That was, of course, the final straw. Almost sooner than the words were out of his brother's mouth, Raphael turned and began clambering up the rusted, rickety scaffolding that had once housed an elevator. Splinter's eyes tracked his son's agonizingly slow progress. And as he kept watch, he wrestled with his conscience. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, screamed at him to intervene--to leap from his tunnel hiding place and snatch Raphael from the jaws of danger. But still he remained absolutely motionless and absolutely silent.

When the boy was about halfway up the shaft--some twenty-five feet above the floor--Splinter involuntarily thought of bokkens and of sparring. Of decisions and tears and mistakes and split-second hesitations. His whiskers began twitching furiously.

Then, at about thirty feet, in full view of his helpless father, Raphael slipped.

---

_"I mean, what if he's hurt? What if he got himself into trouble? And maybe he's alone, and he's got no back-up, and he's out there, and he's--"_

_A quiet interruption: "Raphael."_

_"--and, I mean, for all we know, he could be dying. Even as we speak, he could be lyin' in a ditch somewhere, and he could be--" _

"Raphael!" 

_"Sorry, Sensei! I didn't mean to ... oh, geez, I'm sorry." _

"There is no need to apologize." The ghost of a smile. Warmth, in the timber of a soft voice and in the depths of dark eyes. "I merely wished to observe that 'what if?' can be a very dangerous question indeed." 

_"Yeah, I know. Honest, I do. But how am I supposed to not worry? I don't know how you do it, Master Splinter."_

---

"Raph!" Leo's shriek bounced off the corridors of the subway station.

Time stopped. For one sickening, endless moment in time, Raphael dangled in mid-air. His left hand gripped the metal framework of the shaft while his legs pinwheeled futilely. Then, finally, blessedly, the young turtle gained a foothold. As soon as his feet were safely back on the scaffolding, Raph clung to the side of the shaft. Meanwhile, Splinter took a step forward, feeling fairly certain that he could--and _would_--be up the side of that shaft in under two seconds flat.

"Keep going, Raphy." Leonardo's voice, reassuring and calm, yet holding just a hint of challenge, interrupted Splinter's rescue plans. "You're almost there."

Splinter paused. Whiskers still twitching, he held his breath.

Raphael began moving once again, uncharacteristically tentative but growing surer with every foot higher that he climbed. At last he reached his goal. Clumsily perched atop the elevator shaft, the boy peered down at his brother with a broad, cocky grin. Then he reached up a hand and, with a triumphant laugh, grabbed onto one of the long black pipes that hung from the ceiling.

"You did it!" Leonardo joined in the laughter, beaming up at his brother while clapping his small hands together in glee. "I knew you could do it, Raphy. I _knew_ it!"

Although the worried rat didn't relax a muscle until his son had successfully slithered back down the elevator shaft, he couldn't entirely fight the smile that spread across his muzzle. Once assured that Raphael was indeed safe and sound, Splinter tarried only a few seconds more, just long enough to witness his two sons hug before taunting one another anew. Then, still smiling, he faded back into the shadows.

The journey back to the lair was not a long one, but it provided plenty of time for him to reach his decision. Today Splinter had seen enough to confirm what he'd long suspected. Though the child still had much growing left to do, to be sure, someday Leonardo would make an excellent leader.

---

_Hands on shoulders. Contrasts ... old and young, fur and scales, soft and hard. "Ah, Raphael. There is more than enough to worry over. There is no need to--let me see if I can recall the phrase in English--there is no need to 'borrow trouble,' I assure you."_

_Good advice. Sound advice._

_Easier given than taken. Like all good advice._

_Hands on shoulders. Reflections ... love and fear, grief and rage, doubt and hope. "You're right, Sensei." A rueful chuckle. A twitch of the lips, half-smile and half-smirk. "No surprise there, huh?" _

In reply, a flinch. Tiny. Unnoticed. 

---

Splinter's eyes snapped open, and he gave himself a shake. Slowly he blinked against the soft candlelight that filled his room. How unusual. This time it hadn't been the toaster that he'd remembered. A welcome respite, to be sure, but still ...

Suddenly he realized what had drawn him out of his meditation--the faint but unmistakable splash of someone walking through the sewer waters. Unconsciously leaning forward, ears curving towards the source of the sound, Splinter listened. Joy, sharp and almost painful in intensity, leapt within his breast. His sons. One of his sons was coming home. But which one?

Every so often the splashing would stop and then, a few seconds later, resume. The approacher was obviously pausing periodically and, satisfied, Splinter nodded to himself. Donatello. Only that most introspective son would show such hesitation. In contrast, even when at his most doubtful, Leonardo would never let on that he was anything but sure of his path. Yes, certainly it was Donatello making his way home.

Quickly Splinter moved to position himself. Standing in the shadows of the computer nook, he stared at the lair's main door and silently willed it to open. He resisted the rather ridiculous urge to fidget with the sleeves of his robe. Instead, he contented himself with wondering when Michelangelo and Raphael--who had not their father's superior rodent hearing--would realize that one of their wayward brothers had returned at last.

The groan and shudder of the front door was quiet. Subtle. Barely audible over the loud clank of weights in the dojo. But as soon as the door gave its creaky protest at being opened, Splinter heard all noise from the dojo abruptly halt. By the time Raphael reached the main room, Donatello was already standing at the top of the entry stairs.

The two turtles locked eyes. Splinter glanced from one boy to the other and back again.

Raph began stalking towards his brother. With each and every step, his shoulders grew tenser, and his fists clenched tighter. His eyes never left Don's and, for his own part, Donatello remained completely frozen in place.

As he took the stairs two at a time, Raphael drew back his arm, his fist cocked, his arm muscles trembling with barely repressed energy. Splinter took an uncertain step forward but stopped when he noticed Donatello regarding his brother with an expression of calm acceptance.

"I could kill you," grumbled Raph, glowering, "for what you've put us all through."

"I know." Don nodded serenely, even affably. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't blame you."

It was then that Raph's arm shot out, flying past Donatello's head and circling around the back of his shell. Yanking forward, Raphael pulled his brother against him and wrapped both arms tightly around Don's shoulders. And then suddenly they were hugging, and Donatello was rolling his eyes, and Raphael was laughing in a booming voice, and Michelangelo was racing towards them both with outstretched arms and a smile as wide as the Mississippi.

As his vision blurred with unshed tears, Splinter finally let out the breath he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding in.

**---  
**Author's Notes: The flashback scenes from last chapter were purposefully unclear, so for anyone who's confused--the smaller turtle was Raph, and the larger turtle was Don. As always, many thanks to all of you who've taken the time to read and review this story. There will probably be one last chapter.


	4. Beginnings

**Chapter 4: "Beginnings"**

_"You must be punished, my son. Surely you realize this."_

_"Yes, Sensei."_

_Firm, hard words. "It is only just. Such a rash and selfish action is not acceptable within this family." Then, softer: "You caused much worry for your brothers, Donatello. And for myself." _

"Yes, Sensei." Pleasant. Calm. Much too pleasant; a touch too calm. "I understand." 

---

As he lifted the bo high above his head, he felt his arms begin to tremble. But he ignored the discomfort. Instead, he focused on the task before him. The computer monitor stood on his desk--large, bulky, silently defiant. Its dark screen ominously reflected the desk lamp's faint white light.

Donatello swallowed a sob.

Then, with a howl of rage and pain, he brought down the bo. The monitor exploded in a spray of plastic, glass, and wires, and Don smiled tightly. One down, one to go. Giving his shoulders a roll, loosening up his muscles, he raised his weapon again and took aim for the computer tower. He scowled. It had taken him _months_ to build the thing. But he set his jaw, forced away all those fond memories, and swung downward with all his young might.

The bo stopped before it could hit home, and Don blinked in surprise. A pair of bright blue eyes blinked back at him.

For several long, tense moment silence hung in the air between the two brothers like a lingering perfume. Then Michelangelo spoke, in a soft, scared voice: "_Why_, Donny? Why're you doing this?"

"B--b--because." He let his arms drop to his sides. "We're eleven years old. We're not babies anymore. It's past time to ... " He paused and wet his lips before continuing, darkly, "Past time to 'set aside our toys,' Michelangelo."

Looking away, Mike picked up a stray piece of wire and turned it over in his hands. Don sighed. He set his bo in the corner. Then, grabbing a nearby dustpan, he began cleaning up the remains of the computer monitor. He breathed in slowly then out even more slowly. He could not cry. Especially not in front of Mikey.

"He didn't mean it like that."

Donatello glanced up. "Then how did he mean it? Huh?"

Mike shook his head and set down the wire. "It doesn't matter. I mean, the computer makes you so happy!" He grinned in what Don guessed was meant to be a charming manner. "And being happy's a good thing, right?"

In reply Don only frowned. It wasn't as simple as that, which even Mikey had to realize. Still, he had to admit ... it did sound _somewhat _persuasive ... just a tiny bit ...

"Right? Right!" Michelangelo grabbed Don's hand and began tugging. "C'mon, I'll help you make another monitor. And then we can play games again!"

Laughing despite himself, Don allowed his brother to pull him towards the doorway. By bedtime, their sensei found the pair working and chatting away in Donatello's bedroom, happily sprawled out admist the electronics guts of an old television set. Don froze as soon as he noticed Splinter in the doorway. He closed his eyes and waited for his reprimand.

But when no reprimand came, he opened his eyes again to see Splinter _smiling_.

---

_"My son, I do not think you truly comprehend the seriousness of the situation."_

_In response, only a slow blink of dark eyes. Fathomless eyes, hidden behind a purple mask._

_A sigh, tired but not unsympathetic. "I know leadership is not a role to which you naturally take. Nor is it a role you necessarily find fulfilling. But it is an important role nonetheless, and you cannot abdicate it merely because you would rather spend time with your computers or--"  
_

_Too much._

_Finally, too much._

_  
A voice as hard and cold as ice, interrupting: "I'll be in the dojo if you need me ... Sensei."_

---

The room smelt of leather and wax, of blood and sweat, and of the faintest whiff of an incense that had not actually been present there for many months. Working over the punching bag, Donatello breathed in and out slowly, taking in all the familiar scents. It helped to calm his nerves, a little. So did the steady, repetitive work-out. It felt good to have something to do with his hands. It felt good to not have to _think_ for a change. In fact, Donatello was starting to feel pretty great--up until the moment he lifted his head and saw Master Splinter staring at him with glittering eyes.

"Explain yourself, my son."

It was neither a question nor a request, and Donatello flinched.

"It's true that I abdicated my responsibilities," he began softly, "and it was an awful thing to do. I know that. I admit that. But it wasn't ... I can't believe you think it was because of something as silly as ... " Miserably he trailed off, glancing down at the hands that still stung from the hard leather of the punching bag.

Splinter said nothing.

During the ensuing silence, Don tried not to jump to conclusions. Tried not to wonder about what on earth the old rat might be thinking about. Instead, he closed his eyes, ignored how his heart was pounding away like a jackhammer, and listened to the soft, steady breathing of his father.

"Why, then ... " Splinter paused a moment before continuing, in a quiet voice, "Why did you leave us?"

Don swallowed. Slowly he turned and approached his master and, not daring to look him in the eyes, knelt down on the floor. In a quiet voice he asked, "Do you remember the first time we used the bokkens in sparring?"

"Yes. Yes, I remember."

"So do I." He paused. Suppressed a shudder. "I ... I could've _killed_ him, Sensei! I could _still_ kill him!" Donatello paused and contemplated the horror of it all. "Every wrong move, every bad decision ... "

"It is, indeed, a daunting task."

"Raph's right. He's always been right. I'm a coward." Shaking his head, Don continued loudly, "But I can't help it! When so much is at stake ... how am I supposed to feel anything but unbridled terror?"

In response came a sigh. "You are not alone, Donatello." Splinter leaned forward, and Don felt a furry hand on his shoulder. "Not in your fear. Not in anything."

Don shrugged. "Maybe. But Raph and Leo sure don't act as though _they're_ scared of leading."

"Actions, like words, may speak untruthfully. Raphael is terrified, and so too with Leonardo. As is Michelangelo." Splinter's voice dropped very low. "As am I."

At that Donatello's head snapped up.

---

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_Telling, not asking. Assuming. A mistake. Worse! The _same _mistake._

_Unforgivably stupid._

_A figure in a doorway. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Fists against leather. Over and over and over. Beating out an angry tattoo. Familiar sight, familiar sound, except ... except the mask. Not red. Not this time._

_A deep breath. No more mistakes._

---

Splinter's smile was patient, and his eyes sparkled with mute amusement. "We both remember the first session of bokken sparring," the old rat began in a conversational tone, "but I wonder, do you remember the second?"

Don frowned. "I remember ... I remember being hesitant to spar again."

"That you most certainly were. Tell me, what else do you recall?"

"Not very much." Donatello concentrated but came up with only vague shadows and shapes. "You paired me with Leo that day. I think."

Splinter nodded, pleased. "That is correct. Leonardo has always been a cautious, circumspect boy, and I thought starting over with him might set you at ease."

"Really?" Don burst out into quiet laughter. "I thought you were punishing me for what happened with Raphy! Leo's such a perfectionist that sparring with him is absolutely terrifying. Always has been."

The elderly rat blinked at that and was silent for several long moments. Filing that revelation away, Don knew, and thinking things over. Digesting. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest. Donatello found himself blurting out, "Why _did_ you let me--let things--get to that point? In our first sparring session, that is?"

Splinter's eyes snapped back into focus, sparking in what surely had to be anger, and Don winced slightly. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid. He looked away from his father, over to where the punching bag hung in mid-air, swinging gently, almost lyrically.

"It was an error in judgment on my part." Splinter's voice was calm and steady. Perhaps a touch sad but utterly without anger. "I did not want to discourage Raphael or do unnecessary injury to his pride. However, it is true that I should have intervened sooner than I did."

It was Don's turn to silently think things over. He knew his father wasn't always right, of course. He was far too old to _not _have realized that. But hearing Splinter say it? Was something else entirely. It was, in fact, the essence of paradigm shifting. Like the photoelectric effect. Or evolution. Or Einstein's relativity.

"So," the young turtle offered finally, hesitantly, "where do we go from here?"

"I do not know, my son. But let us go there _together_."

Donatello felt a familiar, warm paw touch his hand, and he smiled.

---

Author's Notes: I have no idea if any of the original readers for this story will read this chapter, but if so--my sincere apologies for the delay. Ugh, this was the chapter from Hades! You don't even want to know how many times I wrote and rewrote (and rewrote) the chibi flashback. Rewrote entirely from scratch, I mean. And I'm still not _happy_ with it ... it's just that, of the many versions I wrote, this was the one I was least _unhappy_ with. This is especially distressing as, on the whole, I've been pleased with how the rest of the story turned out.

But I digress. I'm sorry it took me so long to finish this up, but thanks very much for reading. Happy 2008!


End file.
